Page 31 of Whiskey Kisses

Poppy finally appears from the chaos, snuggling onto Evie’s lap like she knows her mom needs it. Evie cuddles her close, kissing her face. She’s such a sweetheart. I hate seeing her like this, all sad and defeated. “You hungry? We’ll order anything you want.”

“Actually,” she says, lying back with Poppy. “I think I’m gonna just take a shower and go to bed.”

10.Evie

Sunlight blazes through the naked windows of my bedroom. Alarmed at how bright it is, I fumble for my phone. It’s nearly nine o’clock, and I’m late for work.

“Shit!” Rolling out of bed, I grab my towel and rush for the second-nearest bathroom.

“Be right out,” Timmy calls out when I jiggle the knob.

“Never mind,” I call back. Stumbling over a bag of shoes in my bedroom, I try the bathroom adjoining my room to Tristan’s. I’d planned on avoiding it to prevent accidental flashing (from either of us), but it looks like I have no choice. Locking myself inside, I hurry through a shower, using a bar of decadent cedarwood soap.Oh, yum.No wonder that boy smells so good all the time.

Twenty minutes later, I’m flying down the road with minimal makeup and my wet hair pulled into a bun. I’m starving because I skipped dinner last night, but my belly will just have to wait because today is not the day to be late. Especially after the flaky week I just had. Careening into the parking lot of Manning Distributors, I park as close as I can to the front door and go inside.

Oliver, the secretary, frowns primly at me from the front desk. “You okay, Evie girl? You look like you had a rough night.”

I did, but not for the reasons he’s insinuating. “Thanks, Oliver. I’m great.”

“Mm.” Pursing his lips, he nods toward the meeting room. “They’ve already gotten started.”

Smoothing my hair back, I creep into the monthly meeting, hoping I can grab a seat before being called out. My boss is generally easygoing about our hours as long as our numbers are good—and mine are—but he can be a stickler about lateness and taking too much time off.

Ms. Claudine catches my eye as I sit, giving me a small smile before returning her attention to the front of the room, where Phil Manning is giving his usual rah-rah speech. I glance around the table, envying everyone’s coffee, bagels, and croissants, hoping my growling stomach isn’t audible to anyone but me.

Nearly an hour later, the meeting wraps up. I’m grabbing the last croissant, my mouth watering as I take a bite, when someone clears their throat behind me. “Evie.”

I spin around, wiping crumbs from my mouth. “Hi, Phil. Sorry I was late today. Car trouble.”

“Things happen,” he says gently, patting my arm. “That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you.”

The croissant sticks in my throat. “About my car?” I ask, feeling horrible for lying.

“About what’s been going on,” he says, lowering his voice even though everyone has left the room. “Randy gave me a call this morning, said you’ve been having some sort of a crisis? Claudine mentioned you’d taken a few days off, but I never imagined it was something like this.”

My chest tightens. Because they work in adjacent fields, my father and Phil have known each other in a professional capacity for years. But I didn’t think they were chummy enough that Daddy would call him and feed him this bullshit. Shocked he would go this far, I shake my head. “I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not going through any kind of crisis. My father and I just had a disagreement, that’s all. I’m totally fine.”

“That’s not how it sounded to me, Evie, but your mental health is your business,” he says. “And it’s nothing to be ashamed of!”

What the hell did Daddy tell him? “Phil.”

“When Karen went through her dark period, it was, well … difficult to say the least. She had to take a step back. We all did.” He sighs, running a hand through his coiffed, dark hair. “Take all the time you need, Evie.”

I grit my teeth, feeling more like a little girl being sent to her room than an employee who won August’s salesperson of the month award. His assumption that I’m going through a “dark period” like his wife is mortifying. “I don’t need any more time off.”

“If it’s going to be affecting your job,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Then, yes. I think you do. Now, I’ve already asked Claudine to reassign your leads for the next month. Between the PTO you’ve accrued and your sick leave, you should be just fine. But if you do run into trouble, just let us know. We can always give you an advance.”

“Phil, please,” I plead, holding up my hands. “I don't need time off or reassigned leads. I'm perfectly capable of doing my job.”

“I’m sure you are, but I’d feel better if you took some time anyway. Let’s meet back in one month—reassess and see if you’re ready to jump back onboard, okay?” He gives my back a brisk rub. “Good talk, honey.”

Dazed and temporarily jobless,I drag myself to Callista’s to ponder the shitshow my life has become. My beloved patio out back is full, because of course it is, so I take a seat at the window bar in the front. I’m on my third Cuba libre when someone wearing Miss Dior wafts by.

It’s my sister’s signature scent, so it’s no shock when she slides into the seat beside me. “Well, this is a surprise,” says Maribelle, setting her purse down on the bar. She’s wearing a chic, lavender sheath that showcases her small baby bump,

I glance at her immaculate French manicure. “Is it?”

She smiles sweetly, motioning until a harried looking server comes over. “A club soda with lime, please. Thank you.”

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